


Good With His Hands

by chewysugar



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bisexuality, Caught, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Masturbation, Nude Photos, Pining, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Jensen sees a picture of Misha and disappears for a little quiet time.





	Good With His Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This work inspired by the photo at the end of Misha's interview in American Craft Council, and brought to you in part by my low moral standards, and contributions from readers like you.

Practiced hands moved over familiar flesh. The slap-slap of skin and the heavy rhythm of breathing filled the bathroom like an orchestra of sin.

Jensen kept his eyes focused on the screen of his iPad. His legs were mounted over either side of the toilet; his iPad screen faced him from the back, propped against the wall and the cistern. He didn’t care that he was using one of the on-site bathrooms at the university they were location shooting at; he didn’t even care that it was the middle of the day and he was due back on set in ten minutes.

He was a hot blooded Texan with a heart as warm as apple pie and a mind as bright as a Fort Worth sunrise. His appetite for sex was also on par with his appetite for steak and pecan pie; nobody could fault him for disappearing between takes to ride go for a ride with his baloney pony.

It was that goddamn photo, the one he couldn’t stop staring at as he continued to stroke his cock. Seeing it at the end of an otherwise innocent article had set a Fourth of July fireworks display off from his brain to his nuts. As far as he was concerned, he either messed his jeans in the sight of his co-stars, crew, and friends, or he disappeared and took matters into his own hands. 

If it had been any other dude, Jensen would have walked away. While he was open-minded, he wasn’t so that he’d go betraying his wife by popping wood over a a fucking stranger with a pretty face and a perfect ass.

But this wasn’t any other man, because the universe at large both loved and hated Jensen Ackles.

The man in the picture gracing Jensen’s iPad had been photographed spraying himself down with a garden hose. He stood in a bath tub in some kind of half-built shed. While the shed was dark, there was sufficient light from the outside world beyond to illuminate his clearly naked form in profile. It was candid, possibly meant for a private collection, and strangely beautiful, like some vision from Olympus glimpsed in the mortal world.

Jensen licked his lips, and tugged at his aching balls with the hand not moving up and down the skin of his shaft.

The water spraying from the end of the hose in the photo was aimed right at the subject's junk; Jensen could well imagine him having to hose off at the end of a long day of work; could almost taste the sweat that had likely coated the man’s wiry body…could almost smell his ripe muskiness.

Fuck, of course Misha would be photographed naked in this article. And of course, Jensen would have to read it during the downtime between shots. Really, the article had been very well-written, even moving: Misha had gone into detail about how handicraft helped balance out the part of him that was dedicated to acting; about how he'd been into crafting and building even as a teenager. If the article had just stuck to that, Jensen wouldn’t be here, greasing his dork in an unused bathroom while cast and crew ambled around set none the wiser.

Misha’s hair was wet, his bangs soaked and falling into his eyes. It was one bad angle away from being completely pornographic; yet it was still striking in that it was hiding what most in the world would have given their eye teeth to have seen.

Jensen’s mind swam with images of what Misha would look like fully exposed; how he might feel in his hand or taste in his mouth. A half-formed fantasy conducted itself in Jensen’s lust-crazed brain: he’d be at Los Feliz that day; he’d find Misha showering; he’d walk into that little shed, shuck his jeans because fuck yeah he’d have been working shirtless. He’d step into that pokey little bathtub, press his own hard length against an ass that would have put the god Apollo to shame and…

“Fuck.” Jensen grunted; hot spurts of come jetted from the slit of cock. He arched his neck back, letting the fantasy drown out all thought, sight…and sound.

He didn’t hear the doorknob turn.

He didn’t hear the door of the bathroom open.

Only when he opened his eyes did he realize that he’d been caught. And caught by the one person who had the power to render this entire debased situation either utterly embarrassing, or completely carnal.

Misha stood in the door. His eyes were glued to Jensen, still sitting astride the toilet with his jeans and boxers at his ankles and his softening prick in his hand.

Jensen didn’t consider himself a man afraid of most things; nor did he consider himself someone easily embarrassed. When he and Jared had lived together all those years ago, they’d often walked in on each other either with a lucky lady or gentleman, or else in similar circumstances of Onanism.

But given that the material was at hand, pun completely intended, Jensen felt like he’d just been caught defacing the Sistine Chapel.

He sat up as best he could, eyes fixed on Misha’s cobalt blues.

Then Misha’s face split into a wolfish smile. He stepped into the bathroom, and closed and locked the door behind him.

He pulled his shirt over his head, and Jensen nearly toppled off his seat. “Guess now is as good a time as any to show you how good I am at working a nice big, thick, hunk of wood.” 

**Author's Note:**

> ...I need to be stopped. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
